Princess In The Tower
by tielan
Summary: Elizabeth Weir watches a day go by and contemplates Atlantis and her people.


**Princess In The Tower**

There are days when she feels like nothing more than a princess in a tower.

This morning, Colonel Sheppard's team ships out to meet with a culture that claims to have Ancient technology. Rodney all but bounces through the gate in anticipation, happy as an alchemist about to be told the secrets of the philosopher's stone. Ronon makes a low comment to Sheppard, the rumble of his voice resonating through the Gateroom even if the words aren't audible. Sheppard smirks broadly, while Teyla rolls her eyes, tolerant as any sibling, and follows Rodney through the wormhole. The two remaining men glance up at her on her balcony and produce nearly-identical grins, like street urchins up to mischief.

Moments like these, she fully understands Teyla's exasperation with - and affection for - her team-mates.

With a couple of 'blops' in the event horizon, they're gone.

She goes into her office to face the day.

Sometimes she thinks they're the lucky ones. They get to go out into Pegasus, to meet new people and see new things, while she stays home and deals with the crises.

They may be short of food, of supplies, of ammo; they may be short of patience, of sanity, of temper; but one thing Atlantis is never short of is trouble.

Another day, another team; another week, another crisis. Atlantis has its ebbs and flows, just as surely as does the sea around it. Sometimes it's all quiet and there's time to study a bit more of the Ancient language. Sometimes, it's all she can do to deal with the situations as they pop up like red flags waving to the bulls of circumstance.

Murphy's Law was personally tailored for Atlantis.

Just after lunchtime, Major Lorne and his team come back through the gate, covered in snow, teeth chattering as they stamp the cold out of their limbs.

As she descends the stairs to them, she's tempted to ask if they got a chilly reception on PK6-771, but jokes seem inappropriate when Lorne has the half-frozen look of a man who would happily drown in several hundred gallons of hot water were he given the chance.

She settles for asking, "Any luck?"

"Yes and no, ma'am. The Kavidans were right - it's Ancient text and there used to be a ZPM there, but it's not anymore."

Disappointment doesn't show on her face, instead she looks at all four men. "Go warm up; we'll debrief in an hour."

Their relief isn't hidden. "Thank you, ma'am!" Lorne gives the nod to his men and they file out, their voices echoing down the corridor to the shower rooms, comradely as a group of knights returning from a good day's hunting.

"Thank God this place has hot showers."

"Thank the Ancients, Tim."

"Eh, whatever. You know, that planet was colder than my ex's shoulder - and _that_ was freezing."

She smiles as she climbs the stairs to the control room and wonders if they could stage a snow day on PK6-771. John's been at her for some time to arrange a day when the majority of the expedition can get out of the city and have some fun.

John's idea of 'fun' involves sun, sand and surf.

Her idea of 'fun' currently involves something that has nothing to do with the sea. And while sending him to an ice planet after his sojourn in Antarctica might be considered cruel; she thinks of it as poetic justice.

But John has a point; Atlantis could do with a day off.

_She_ could do with a day off.

Midafternoon, after the briefing with Major Lorne's team, there's an unscheduled activation of the Stargate. Expecting Colonel Sheppard's team to be in trouble again, she's surprised to find it's Dr. Brown and her botanical group, returned from studying some plants that the locals claimed cured everything from the common cold to cancer.

She, her assistant, the two other botanists _and_ the three marines are covered with hives.

Carson, two nurses, and three more marines are dispatched to the Gateroom with decontam suits and antihistamines.

The botanists scratch as openly as Sedge used to do when he had fleas, while the marines sidle from foot to foot, wanting to scratch but too self-disciplined - or proud - to do so, although Sergeant Delint has a bad case of the twitches as Dr. Brown gives the brief report. The redhead's usually pale skin is blotched with ruddy marks as she ventures that it's probably the pollen and they might have it in their clothing.

"She's probably right," Carson says when he gets to the Gateroom. "I'll run an analysis on the pollen, but I don't think it's fatal."

"Even if we scratch our skins off?" Sergeant Delint asks sardonically as one of the Atlantis nurses helps him into a decontam suit.

Carson gives the man a reproving look, and then they move off to the infirmary.

When she reaches the control room, the techs are all absently scratching themselves. It makes her itchy just watching, and there's a moment in which she wonders if the pollen really is catching...

Then she catches Corporal Miller's eye and he grins sheepishly, a jester caught in the act of teasing. The others all stop within seconds when they realise the game is up, and she arches a brow at them one by one, watching them duck their heads. Once in her office, behind the relative screen of the frosted glass, she shakes her head, smiling. The General did warn her, '_Give the techs an inch and they'll walk all over you._'

Well, at least they're in good spirits. It's better than depression, despondency, or despair.

She's halfway through the next SGC report when the voices penetrate the glass of her office.

"...you're just being obstructive!" Kavanaugh's heavy, bullish tones are easily distinguishable.

The response is higher-toned, but still male, with a softer sound to them.

"I asked them and they agreed to help!"

This time, she can hear the second voice: Radek's less-carrying tenor. "Their reassignment is not for you to determine!"

"This work is important!"

"And so were their studies before!"

She sighs. If she's getting grey hairs because of John, and becoming short-tempered because of Rodney, then dealing with Kavanaugh is definitely contributing to the occasional urge she feels to slaughter someone. Preferably him.

Maybe she should ask Ronon if she can use him as a punching bag sometime.

The dispute is over a matter of jurisdiction; Kavanaugh has co-opted some of Radek's staff for one of his projects; understandably, Radek is displeased by this.

She wonders if the staff really did transfer over to Kavanaugh's project or if he bullied them into it.

In the end the dispute is settled - if the people want to work with Kavanaugh, they have to send in the transfer forms and a date will be set for their transfer. Radek isn't pleased that he'll be losing people, but he accepts the terms with a terse nod. Kavanaugh doesn't. "You just favour his side because he's not me."

Why, oh, why does this always come down to his paranoia? Rodney can be paranoid at times, but his focus is on his work and he doesn't hold grudges; Kavanaugh is _all _grudge.

"If you want to believe that, then go right ahead," she tells him, her voice diamond-hard with the anger that always bubbles up when she's trying to deal with him. "But those personnel are still going to have to hand in the paperwork to be reassigned to your workgroup."

Radek walks away, Kavanaugh remains staring at her as she goes back to her work. "You're going to regret this."

"Because I followed the rules?"

"Oh, please," he says with clear scorn. "You follow the rules about as much as Sheppard."

She's had enough. "Kavanaugh, you can come back when you have the paperwork to support the reassignments. Until then, I've got other things to deal with."

Under other circumstances, he might stay and argue. Under other circumstances, she'd be only too happy to argue back. Other circumstances are not today's circumstance.

He leaves.

She heaves a sigh of relief and exasperation and she thinks it would be nice to exercise a royal prerogative and just lop off Kavanaugh's head. Then she begins typing out the next report for the SGC.

Even as a kid, she was never one for fairy tales, but she remembers a tale of a princess left in a glass tower, waiting for a prince bold, brave, or ingenuous enough to rescue her.

There aren't any princes around here; other than Kavanaugh, there aren't any men she'd class as toads. And the only man in Atlantis that she's kissed...well, he's not a prince for her. And if she has a few risqué dreams at night, he's not the only man who features in them. There's no shortage of attractive men in Atlantis.

Five hours, four cups of decaf, three personnel incidents, two activations of the Stargate (one incoming, one outgoing) and one SGC report later, she's ready for dinner.

She's just started off for the mess hall when the Stargate activates.

The SFs on gate duty are alert, the control techs are busy running through the data they're receiving from the other end, and Corporal Miller reports, "Colonel Sheppard's IDC, ma'am."

"Lower the shield."

She's surprised. They're neither early, nor late; there is no frantic radio transmission for help, and no blasts coming through behind them as John, Teyla, Ronon and Rodney come through, one by one.

Rodney's still talking.

"...really should look into that."

"I said we would."

"No, actually what you said was--"

"The Talonai were happy to trade," Ronon points out.

Rodney glares at Ronon. "The first thing I learned about meeting other races through the Stargate: they might _say_ they're happy to trade, but something always happens to interrupt it."

"It is not their way to rush things," Teyla says, her voice rolling smooth and calm over Rodney's protest. "They are a thoughtful people."

They're at the stairs by now and Rodney turns on his heel to confront Teyla. "Are you saying I'm not thoughtful?"

John interrupts before Teyla can formulate an answer. His voice is terse with the wry frustration of a man who's endured a day of Rodney McKay and doesn't want to endure too much more. "Rodney, the only thing I'm about to say is 'shut up'."

Ronon laughs. Rodney glares. Teyla sighs.

As she listens to their banter, she can't help feeling a little envious. They're familiar and familial with each other, at ease as they return home from a day spent out beneath the sun, talking to new people, seeing new cultures.

Elizabeth's just the princess in the tower.

- **fin** -


End file.
